


...And Many More

by MGreenwood (Majestrix)



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Birthday Parties, Birthdays, F/M, Found Families, Gen, Pining, familial and platonic love, ruminations on love and worth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22071850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majestrix/pseuds/MGreenwood
Summary: When the Charmed Ones find out Harry doesn't celebrate his birthday and why they take it upon themselves to yet again show him how much he is valued and loved in their makeshift family. Set in season one between episode 19: Source Material and episode 20: Ambush.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood & Macy Vaughn & Maggie Vera & Mel Vera, pining!Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Comments: 13
Kudos: 61
Collections: CW Charmed Secret Santa 2019





	...And Many More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesupposedlywriter](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thesupposedlywriter).



> I am so sorry for the delay with my submission - health and work issues decided to rear their ugly heads, and then I panicked at what I had written so I deleted it and started fresh. I think I'm glad I did that because I like this version the best.

Maggie is aghast.

“What do you mean, you don’t celebrate your birthday?” she whispers.

Harry pauses in the process of spooning scrambled tofu onto her plate. “I don’t know I can be any clearer,” he says briefly. “Why are you so fixated on this?”

“Because it’s strange,” Mel pipes up from across the table.

Harry throws her a glare. “You’re not helping,” he says.

Mel smiles and tilts her head. “Was I supposed to?” she asks sweetly.

“What are you guys talking about?” Macy asks as she breezes into the room. She spares Harry a small smile as she passes the table to the counter and the wonderful smell of coffee.

“Harry doesn’t celebrate his birthday,” Mel says. Harry looks at her, unimpressed. “What, you don’t.”

Macy grabs her mug from the cabinet and pours it half full of coffee, leaving enough room for her almond milk and sugar. “Why not?” she asks him curiously.

Harry returns the pan he was holding to the stove and stares at it for a moment before shaking his head minutely. “It’s never felt important,” he says.

“Never?” Maggie presses. “Didn’t your charges celebrate birthdays while you were with them?”

Harry purses his lips. “Maggie, why is this so important to you?”

She cocks her head. “You really don’t know,” she says softly.

Harry feels like he’s missing part of the conversation as he looks to each of the women in the room. “It’s just a birthday,” he says.

“It’s a time for loved ones to celebrate your life,” Macy says quietly.

“I’m well aware of its purpose,” he says as he grabs the plate of sausage and bowl of fresh-cut fruit and brings them to the table. Harry turns to find Macy waiting with his morning cup of earl grey, a quick glance lets him know she’s already splashed a bit of milk in it just the way he likes it.

She’s rounding the table before he can thank her.

“Well, what about when you became a Whitelighter,” Mel suggests.

“Nineteen fifty-seven,” Harry says immediately as he picks a scone from the basket before him.

“The specific date?” Maggie prompts.

Harry pauses as he attempts to press his memories. “I… can’t recall the exact date,” he admits. He looks up to see something akin to pity in Maggie’s eyes. “Oh, come now. This is wholly unnecessary.” Harry glances at the assembled dishes on the table and frowns. “I’ve forgotten the clotted cream,” he mutters, rising to his feet again.

Macy can’t help but smile at the enthusiasm Harry puts into breakfast – his thoughtful and persnickety nature amuses her to no end for some reason. Truth be told seeing him in the morning helps make her day that much better. She glances at both her sisters fondly before looking again at Harry. “So, can you ask for the date?” she asks.

Harry joins them again at the table, handing Macy the small, decorative dish before he returns to his chair. “I haven’t been to the Whitelighter temple in some time. Now that I am…”

Mel smirks. “Independent?” she drawls.

Harry concedes with a nod. “With my change in status I don’t know if I’d be welcomed, and it’s there I would find answers.” He slathers some elderberry preserves onto his scone before swapping with Macy for the clotted cream.

“You’re still friends with other Whitelighters, right?” Maggie asks.

“Yes,” Harry says reluctantly, unsure of where her logic lay.

“Then ask one of them to get the information for you,” she says, as if it’s obvious.

Harry immediately shakes his head. “I don’t wish to put anyone in the Elder’s crosshairs for something so trivial.”

“It’s not trivial,” Maggie retorts.

“I actually agree with Maggie,” Mel says, her mouth puckering like a lemon.

“Gee, do you have to look so broken up about it?” Maggie grumps as she shoves a forkful of tofu into her mouth.

Mel bites into her scone with relish. “Anyway, _you’re_ not trivial, Harry. But I get you; we don’t want to make some other poor Whitelighter into a target for the Elders.” She glances down at her plate. “Especially after losing Tessa.”

Harry nods; Tessa had been so vibrant in life and while they weren’t close, he was as connected to her as they are to all Whitelighters. “Now can we put this entire conversation to rest?”

“So why don’t we go to the source and just ask the Elders ourselves?” Mel suggests.

Maggie’s grin threatens to overwhelm her cherub face. “That’s a great idea.”

“That is a horrible idea,” Harry says emphatically. Maggie glares at him. “Maggie, while I relish my new status, I still don’t think it wise to antagonize a group of people who are still capable of ending my life.”

Maggie visibly deflates. “Macy,” she practically whines at her silent sister. “You haven’t said anything, what do you think?”

Macy’s eyes widen; sometimes it still surprises her that she’s more than just a spectator. “Oh,” she says, gathering her thoughts. “Do we actually know that?”

Both Maggie and Harry frown in confused unison.

“That the Elders can still take your life,” Macy clarifies.

Harry opens his mouth and closes it. “Regardless of our severed connection, the Elders are still immensely powerful witches. As of now, they’re divided as to what to do about me.” He picks up his cup of tea and glances at Mel. “A fellow Whitelighter let slip that information.”

Macy grabs her napkin and wipes her fingers clean. “Maybe we’re asking the wrong question,” she says, tilting her head as she regards man before her. “Harry, do you _want_ a birthday?”

Harry swallows; as much as he knows it’s his choice, he doesn’t like the idea of disappointing anyone at this table. “I don’t think so,” he says, bracing himself for an emotionally explosive response.

“Oh,” Maggie says, immediately downcast and even Mel looks a little disappointed but says nothing.

Macy smiles at him reassuringly. “See, now it’s put to bed,” she murmurs before drinking her coffee.

Harry can’t help but answer her smile with one of his own, and surreptitiously watches the younger Vera sisters. Maggie glances down at her phone and her mood brightens as she begins talking about the latest Kappa event and Mel looks at him knowingly before she begins shoveling food into her mouth as she scrolls through her mobile news feed.

He relaxes and returns to his meal when it’s obvious no one is interested in pushing the birthday issue. Harry must admit it’s nice to have his wishes respected without having to explain and is thankful again for being assigned to this special family.

Eventually, as it always seems to do, breakfast is consumed, and the day begins with an almost mad-cap scatter as the table is cleared and remaining food either shoved into totes or placed in the fridge. Harry begins to unbutton his sleeves when Macy’s cool fingers stay his movement with a light touch.

“You cooked,” she admonishes. “The cook doesn’t wash dishes, remember?”

Harry does know, but more often than not Mel or Maggie will bat their large brown eyes at him – well, Maggie will bat her eyes. Mel will just stare at him, hopefully, and soulfully, scooting toward the door as he silently acquiesces to their plea to let them skate by without having to do dishes.

“I do,” he says. “I’m merely occupying my time until I have to go in; what about you? Are you not due at the lab now?”

Macy slips on a pair of rubber gloves, the almost toxic yellow contrasting prettily with her jade jumpsuit. “No, I’m going in this afternoon; I have a doctor’s appointment.”

Harry’s heart feels strange in his chest. “Is anything the matter?” If something were, she’d tell him, wouldn’t she?

Macy begins to fill the sink with hot, soapy water while Harry stacks dishes and brings them to the counter. “Just a routine check-up,” she says, and the weight on his chest lessens once more.

For reasons Harry doesn’t feel pressed to examine, he sticks around to help rinse and dry the dishes just because he can. He returns dry plates to the cabinet, as he listens to Macy discuss microbial manufacturing. The more excited she is the more she tends to ramble, delving into other technologies in the peripheral of her field before managing to deftly bring all the threads together cohesively.

“I’m sorry,” she says as she ducks her head and puts away the last of the silverware. “I’m just running my mouth about something you could probably care less about and I’m probably making you late.”

Bloody hell – where did the time go?

“I wouldn’t have listened if I weren’t interested,” Harry reassures her as he closes the cabinet and surveys the kitchen having been returned to a pristine condition. “Well, I shall be off.” When Macy doesn’t respond he realizes she’s caught up in some sort of daydream, staring into middle distance as she twists the pendant of her necklace back and forth. Harry wants to stay and ask her about it but if he doesn’t leave now, he won’t have enough time to orb to a secure spot close to the university to pretend he walked.

“See you, Harry,” Macy says, rousing from whatever had distracted her. She gives him a smile and he can see something wistful pass across her eyes before she turns and leaves the kitchen to go back upstairs.

Though he shouldn’t, Harry lingers a moment longer in the peaceful silence just because he can, then orbs away.

~*~

“Harry?”

He turns, grimacing as he removes the silly paper hat from his head and running his fingers over his hair. “Macy,” he says.

She coughs a laugh, hefting a certified picnic basket as she leans inside his open office door. “What are you wearing?”

Harry glances down at the holofoil paper hat and tosses it onto his desk. “Janice – Professor Logan that is – was given a surprise celebration of her birthday in the faculty room. There was cake,” he says as he lifts the flimsy paper plate with what looks like a _chunk_ more than a piece of chocolate cake.

Macy comes in and closes the door behind her as Harry clears off the coffee table in front of his couch. “I’m not pulling you away, am I?” she asks hesitantly.

Harry straightens. “Macy, really, this is the highlight of my day,” he reassures her softly. His words banish her hesitance and she opens the basket with a flourish.

“I hope you don’t mind, but you’re going to be my Guinea pig today.” Harry comes closer, curious as he watches her unpack various, smaller boxes. “Sit,” she prompts, and with a smile, he obediently takes his customary place on the leather couch.

Ever since he’d been… _emancipated_ , Macy and her sisters seem to be extremely interested in his wellbeing. Harry didn’t know what to think of it at first – they had already taken steps to include him in their lives more than any charge he’d had before, even more than Charity and Fiona.

 _And look where that got you_ , Harry thought.

The intrusive thought is stamped into silence by the rustle of Macy’s clothing as she joins him on the couch. “Try this one first,” she says, and Harry feels bad because he realizes he’s missed a good bit of the conversation.

But when he peers into the open box, he’s surprised to find a freshly baked hand pie, and from the gorgeous aroma wafting from the container, it’s steak and potatoes. “You made this?” he asks wonderingly.

Macy gives a somewhat jumbled shrug. “I’ve been trying my hand at various hand pies ever since you told us about them.”

Harry blinks. “That was weeks ago,” he says.

Macy shrugs one shoulder. “We _do_ listen,” she says gently.

Nearly overcome with emotion he busies himself with removing the pastry from its box and taking a bite. Harry doesn’t care if it tastes like dirty socks he will – “Oh my,” he groans involuntarily. The crust is light and flaky, the steak and potatoes are perfectly cooked, and the gravy is perfectly spiced. “This might be the best pasty I’ve ever had,” he says truthfully behind his hand.

Macy’s smile is like the sun. “Really? Are you sure?”

Harry tries his best not to shove the rest into his mouth at once. “I am,” he says. He looks at the rest of the boxes on the table and his eyebrows rise. “What is in the rest of the boxes?”

Macy smiles. “I made six different kinds,” she admits. “Half savory, half sweet. I didn’t know what you’d like more.” She gestures to the stacked boxes with a small grin. “Why don’t you take your pick?”

Harry is a little overwhelmed; each box is like a present and he doesn’t know what he has until he opens it. Such an unfamiliar sensation is not unwelcome, and his excitement takes over.

Twenty minutes later Harry decrees his favorites are the vanilla-cardamom pear and the steak and potato. The sumptuous pasties were consumed with a light salad and truly excellent tea. Harry feels a sense of contentment he hadn’t realized was missing, and it has little to do with being warm and full.

“Well, Doctor Vaughn, you have truly outdone yourself,” he murmurs happily.

“Really? I’m just glad you like them. I’ve been practicing the recipes for the past week,” Macy admits.

Harry squints at her. “Why?”

“I wanted to do something nice for you,” she says simply.

Harry wants to respond to that but what does he say? What should he say? Why does she want to do something nice for him? He forces himself to just take the gesture as it is, and against all he normally does, gives Macy a genuine and appreciative thanks.

And just like any number of times a day, Harry finds himself charmed by Macy’s shy half-smile, his heartbeat quickening when she looks anywhere else in the room _but_ at him to cover her reaction. He watches her gaze land on the table and the various small, and now empty, boxes that littered the coffee table before them and release a small snort then a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“It looks like you opened a whole bunch of presents,” Macy giggles.

Harry looks at the table and must agree. “You know, if a birthday celebration were just like this,” he says as he gestures between the two of them and the absolutely divine spread provided, “I don’t think I’d say no to that. But our dear Maggie’s idea of a celebration?” He shudders.

Macy clears her throat and looks at him knowingly. “Afraid your heart couldn’t take it?”

Harry narrows his eyes at her. “Doctor Vaughn, I do believe you just called me _old_.”

Macy’s shoulders are shaking as she tries to keep the mirth from showing. “I think you’re right, shouldn’t risk it,” she manages to get out before doubling over laughing. Harry plays his part in this joke and lets the disdain utterly drip from his features, which just serves to send Macy into another giggling fit that has her gasping for air.

Something in Harry’s chest grows when he makes Macy laugh, and more and more lately he finds himself coveting the role of jester in the court of Macy Vaughn as her giggles still and they lapse into a companionable silence.

“A birthday celebration doesn’t have be some… _blow out_ ,” Macy says. “I, too, like a more intimate affair, but truth be told I didn’t have much of a choice in that. Growing up, I didn’t have many friends and often it was just me and my dad. After I went to boarding school my birthday was more of an announcement in the school newsletter than anything.”

Harry’s heart aches when he hears how lonely this wonderful woman grew up. How can she still be so gentle and full of life?

“What about college?” he asks.

Macy shrugs but doesn’t look particularly perturbed. “I went out with a friend once on my birthday and she ended up leaving early to go spend time with her boyfriend. After that, I was more focused on my studies than socializing so I didn’t really care.”

Harry reaches over and places his hand over Macy’s, where it lay on her thigh. “I’m sorry you didn’t get all the birthday celebrations you very much deserve.”

Macy tilts her head and leans toward him. “Same,” she whispers, and Harry removes his hand before he does something stupid.

He looks at her and draws strength from her conviction. “Perhaps I do want a celebration. A small one,” he emphasizes as Macy’s face brightens beyond compare and Harry finds himself with an armful of Charmed One. He doesn’t push his cheek into the bountiful curls pressing against the side of his face and remembers to control himself for the duration of the hug.

“Would it make you feel better if I were in charge of planning rather than Maggie?” Macy asks.

“Immensely, yes,” Harry answers immediately, and just as is his plan, Macy laughs.

“Okay. So, what date have you chosen?”

Harry hasn’t and admits as much to her. “Why don’t you choose?” he asks spontaneously.

Macy balks. “It’s important,” she says. “Don’t you want to choose?”

He shakes his head. “We don’t get to choose our date of birth, so why should I choose this one?”

“That’s… fair,” Macy says slowly. An alarm pierces the easy atmosphere, and just like that the demands of the day come forward, demanding attention and pulling them apart. “I’m going to get out of your hair, but I’m glad you liked lunch,” she says, rising to her feet and tumbling most of the meal debris into the basket.

Harry rises and together they make quick work of putting the table back to rights, and with another shy smile Macy is gone and his office – having not changed in the slightest – now is wanting.

~*~

It’s not that he hates marking papers.

It’s not that he hates his students.

Except when he hates marking papers and he really, really hates his students.

Harry fills his tumbler a quarter of the way, hesitates, and fills it almost to the top. He still has ten essays to grade and if he were to get through this, he needs to be just slightly impaired. He’s thankful for the magical world giving him and his charges a quiet night – being a professor may be his cover but he’s responsible for the education of many people and he takes that seriously.

That still doesn’t mean he wants to read Mitch’s hot takes on how misandry is on the rise in media and everyday life. Harry brings the glass to his temple and rocks it back and forth against the oncoming headache.

_Harry!_

He pauses; that’s Mel’s voice.

Harry leans for his jacket and snags it before he portals to the Vera-Vaughn manor, landing in the attic and finding Mel looking pensive. “Mel, what’s wrong?” he asks, looking over her for injury, though she seems fine.

“Nothing. Every time we call you don’t have to be life or death, does it?” she asks.

Harry’s taken aback. “Well, no,” he stammers. “But-”

“But nothing, old man. It’s time,” Mel intones darkly.

Harry narrows his eyes at her. “…Are you alright,” he asks.

Mel holds her expression for a beat longer before loosing a bark of laughter. “God, you look like you’re about to get mugged,” she crows. “I’m responsible for bringing you.”

“Bringing me? As if I’m some sort of child or object to be carted around?” he asks, and he can feel himself getting prissy for no real reason. MRAs and scotch don’t mix.

When Mel doesn’t rise to the occasion Harry sags and lets himself be manhandled down the attic steps. If she hadn’t put her hand in the crook of his elbow, he would’ve orbed himself back home for sure. He protests but allows her to prod him down the attic steps, down, down into the quiet and empty house.

“Where are we going?”

Mel smirks. “You can’t help it, can you?” she asks, continuing to tug him forward.

“Wanting to know where I’m going, no,” Harry scoffs as they cross into the solarium and out through the open doors to the backyard. As soon as he steps onto the grass something _shifts_ in the air and he’s surrounded by people eagerly wishing him happy birthday.

He actually knows these people – Gustav, a man he met when he had begun his training as a Whitelighter, Michelle, a woman who joined their ranks only twenty years ago, and Jesse – they’d been a Whitelighter longer than he himself had been both alive and dead. Maggie, Macy, and Leon also crowded close and the lights strung up above them twinkle brightly before Chloe appears in a burst of gleeful happiness.

He knows everyone here.

~*~

Music starts from somewhere unseen and people laugh and dance. Leon is handing out wine and suddenly it’s a _party_. Harry laughs and dances with everyone at least twice. He’s not sure when he gains the flower crown, but he doesn’t bother to take it off. And why should he? The world is bright, and nothing hurts – well, that’s not exactly true. His cheeks hurt from all the smiling he’s doing and every laugh that escapes his body is free and full of joy.

The moon is full and hangs over the party like it’s been rented as a personal light show, and the back yard goes from fuzzy gold to ethereal silver. Hands that love him bring him over to see two tables – one is piled high with gaily wrapped gifts and he feels Macy’s face at his ear, and she whispers they’re all for him.

He’s feeling overcome with emotions and the Brit inside refuses to let Harry open his mouth and thank everyone in attendance. And if the party ends right there, he has more than enough memories to last him the next two hundred and fifty years, easily.

But young Maggie tugs on his hand and leads him to the other table; it’s long and lavishly appointed with – Harry squints at the china as they all move toward grabbing places at the table. “The Monteigne collection?” he asks Mel, who takes the seat next to him on his right.

She can’t hide her smile, and her eyes shine brightly in the moonlight. “Remember when you gave that lecture a few weeks ago?”

Harry sputters exaggeratedly, getting Mel to laugh and duck her head at his reaction. “I did _not_ lecture,” he says primly.

“Sure, old man,” she retorts fondly.

The heady sensation of magic is in the air and Harry watches as dishes fly through the air in complex serving patterns. Simultaneously his wine goblet and bowl fill with two very different liquids. He leans torward the bowl and smells lobster bisque, his favorite. His stomach growls. He’d skipped lunch that day and would’ve skipped dinner since he was alone in his condo.

He’s not alone right now.

Between jokes, laughter, and more wine, his bowl is drained, and the next course arrives. It’s a gorgeously fragrant winter salad with poached pear, reminding Harry of the best of home. He tears through it a little quicker, but when Jesse lifts the plate to scrape what’s left into their mouth, mirth bubbles in his chest rather than embarrassment.

The dishes shift before them and the scent of prime rib wafts through the air. One of his favorite meals, prime rib with Yorkshire pudding – real Yorkshire pudding! – sits before him, with minted peas, carrots, and potatoes. A gravy boat floats by and Harry grabs it and finds it’s filled with horseradish cream.

If his mouth wasn’t full, he might’ve cried.

The food is sumptuous and rich, and just when the loudest sound is the scraping of forks against empty plates Macy rises from the table with a mischievous smile. His eyes follow her form with curiosity as she slips into the house, but his attention is called elsewhere. The dishes clear themselves and gasps of delight cause Harry to turn to find Macy floating a table and a rather large cake before her.

…It’s a birthday cake.

More to the point, it’s _his_ birthday cake.

Harry’s once again incapable of speech as he’s pulled from his chair to stand before the confection, laughing as he realizes its decorated like a union jack. Maggie waves a hand and the candles light simultaneously as everyone begins to sing Happy Birthday. He can barely hear them over the blood rushing in his ears and when he catches Macy’s eye over the cake, he makes a desperate wish and blows out the candles in one breath.

He gets to cut the first piece for himself and Harry takes little more than a sliver before Mel groans with obviously fond exasperation and takes his plate and the knife to give him a behemoth of a piece and sending him away laughing.

The cake is a decadent lemon, supple and tart on his tongue. To think, if pressed he would’ve asked for a chocolate cake. Harry finishes his piece to find both stomach and heart fit to burst. He’s offered more wine and he declines, he still has a class to teach in the morning.

“I’ve never been to one of these before.”

Harry turns to find Monique at his side. “You’ve never attended a birthday party?” he asks.

She rolls her eyes. “No, silly; I’ve been to plenty of birthday parties. I’ve never been to a birthday party for a white lighter thrown by witches – let alone the Charmed Ones.”

Harry ducks his head. “They’re singular women,” he says proudly.

“And it’s obvious they love you,” she says. “What’s it like?”

He hesitates. “What do you mean?”

“To be loved like this, by your charges?” Monique sounds like she’s in awe as they watch the party.

Harry doesn’t have any words that would provide a solution for her – he doesn’t know what he did to earn let alone deserve, the love and consideration provided to him by Maggie, Mel, and Macy.

He’s thankful all the same.

Before melancholy can take hold, Harry is pulled back onto the dancefloor and as the party winds down, he takes a turn with almost everyone, save Macy. The tables have been removed, as has the large pile of gifts and the cake. He’s giving Jesse a kiss on the cheek before they leave when he sees Gustav return with Macy’s arm tucked in the crook of his elbow and an unseemly flare of jealousy rides low in his gut.

He puts a smile on his face and nods at Monique before she orbs away with Jesse and is surprised by Leon giving him a small, ornate bottle of dark red liquid. “Is this…” he trails off, hopeful.

“From my super-secret stash,” he reassures him. “Nevermore than a sip at any given time or the hangover will be devastating.”

Harry shivers. “Oh, I believe I remember,” he mutters, unable to hide his grin as he claps the satyr on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

“No, my friend, thank _you_ ,” Leon says. He shakes his head and the previously obvious inebriation is gone as he fishes for his keys in his pocket.

“Now that’s just showing off,” Harry mutters as he watches Leon say goodbye to the sisters.

It’s just after half-past midnight when the only people left are Harry and the occupants of the Vera-Vaughn manor. Maggie bounds over to him, all bright eyes and big smiles. “Did you have fun?” she asks.

Harry laughs. “I did,” he says honestly. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Maggie shrugs a shoulder. “I wish I could take credit for this, but Macy took point,” she admits.

Harry’s taken aback. “Really?” He glances over at the eldest Charmed One with helpless adoration.

“Yep. Oh gosh, look at the time. Mel, look at the time,” Maggie yells as she squeezes Harry’s bicep.

Mel looks at her sister strangely before her eyes widen and she grabs her phone. “Oh yeah, it’s crazy late. We’re going to turn in, super early morning tomorrow. Glad you had fun, Harry, night!”

Her words are almost cut off by her giggling and Maggie’s near-violent tug into the house, leaving him and Macy alone in the backyard.

“Where’d you run off to?” Harry asks, hoping his tone is as light and unaffected as he’s striving for.

“Gustav was kind enough to orb me to your place. I put some of the leftover cake in your refrigerator and we put your gifts on your couch; I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t think you’d want to orb home with your hands full.”

The twist in his chest loosens; of course, she was thinking about him. “You’re so considerate,” Harry says. “This has been one of the best nights I’ve had since becoming a Whitelighter.”

Macy frowns and looks away, and he’s worried he’s said something wrong. “Macy –”

“I want more for you,” she interrupts, still unable to look at him face to face when he stops right before her.

“Macy?” Harry makes no sudden moves lest he spooks her.

Macy finally lifts her face and Harry can’t help but love how close in height they are. The moon makes her wide brown eyes appear to glow and all he wants to do is drown in them.

“You deserve to be happy, Harry,” she says. “Outside of your position as Whitelighter, and what you can do. Your advice, your support… I - _we_ hold you in high esteem.”

“You must know I feel the same,” he says. The smile he receives back is small and unsure and Harry hates it because he doesn’t know how to tell her he would die for her without question or regret.

He doesn’t know how to tell Macy he loves her.

They’re standing in each other’s personal space and there’s a charge in the air that tastes the same as magic. All Harry has to do is lean forward to discover for himself how soft her full lips are. He can feel her exhale shakily as her eyes flutter shut and as much as he wants to, as much as he _needs_ to, he cannot cross that line.

Not outside his heart’s desire. He may be independent, but Harry can’t overcome decades of training, nor can he bear the thought of putting Macy in the Elder’s crosshairs. He knows from experience how vindictive they can be when they feel someone has purposefully flouted their rules. 

“There is only one thing that could’ve made this night perfect,” he says, physically pulling himself away so he is breathing something other than the subtle scent of Macy Vaughn, although the air feels less nourishing.

When she opens her eyes, Harry sees what he feels he can delude himself into believing is disappointment. It disappears in less than a second, and they’re back to their respective roles, for good or for ill.

Macy tilts her head curiously. “Oh?”

“I had a final dance with everyone except for the lovely hostess. May I rectify that hideous oversight? I fear I can’t leave such a blight upon my social standing.”

Macy’s beautiful face is briefly inscrutable before she sighs and laughs fondly. “We can’t have that, can we?” she asks.

Harry places his gift from Leon on the step beside them and gives Macy a deep bow before offering his hand.

“We don’t have any music,” Macy murmurs as she places her hand in his. “I had Mel end the spell.”

Harry draws her close as he rests his arm around her waist. “Doctor Vaughn, I find I don’t need music when I’m with you,” he says, and in the silence of the full moon, Harry has his dance.


End file.
